The Blood Witch and the High King
by PenPatronus
Summary: The White Witch has been freed. Now Peter, Caspian, Susan, Edmund and Lucy have to fight her as well as the Telmarines! Caspian x Susan, a what-if, AU "Prince Caspian" story based on the movie, no slash or incest. Angst, hurt/comfort, drama. DISCONTINUED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE
1. Blood and Fire

**Summary:** The White Witch has been freed. Now Peter, Caspian, Susan, Edmund and Lucy have to fight her as well as the Telmarines. Caspian/Susan (a what-if, AU "Prince Caspian" story based on the movie, no slash or incest)

**Disclaimer:** It all belongs to Mr. Lewis.

**Author's Note:** This story is based on the movies and my own ideas, not the books (although yes, I've read them).

**The Blood Witch and the High King**

PenPatronus

Chapter One:

**Blood and Fire**

Peter Pevensie kept his sword leveled with Jadis' chest, but the longer he looked into her eyes the heavier the weapon felt. His grip slackened, his elbows sank, his shoulders drooped, and all the while he could only stare, unblinking, into the White Witch's icy eyes. Suddenly her fingertips sliced through the ice like knives.

"Peter," she cooed in her voice of spiked honey. "Just take my hand. One drop of blood and your enemies will be at the mercy of my magic."

Peter could feel the heat of her spell even with the ice between them. Her eyes reached into that secret hopelessness hidden deep in his heart, and the temptation was nearly irresistible.

"Release me," she hissed. "It's the only way to save Narnia and your family! _Release me_!"

A sword wasn't the only weapon Peter had in his arsenal. His strength of character was ten times stronger than his steel, and a hundred times stronger than her spell. Peter gathered himself, raised his sword higher and spat, "_**Never**_!"

Jadis screeched, and her outstretched hand clenched into a fist. Behind Peter, Susan had entered the chamber, Trumpkin was helping Lucy to her feet and Edmund was battling the Hag. Prince Caspian had finally shaken the spell off and was watching Peter.

But then Susan's cry was the only warning Peter had, and it wasn't in time. The Wer-wolf suddenly bowled into Peter from behind. The High King stumbled forward, his sword scraping the stone floor before dropping with a clang. Peter put his hands up to brace himself against the ice, but a hand caught his throat. White fingers tightened around his neck and, instinctively, Peter brought up both of his hands.

"Peter, no!" Caspian shouted.

Too late. Peter's hands were covered with his own blood, and the moment his blood touched a finger, a brilliant flash of light engulfed the room, knocking Caspian, Susan, Edmund, Lucy and Trumpkin off their feet. The light melted the ice around Jadis into water. The water turned to blood, and the blood re-solidified into a strong gauzy fabric that wrapped Jadis up in a gown. And there, at her side, was her wand.

"No!" Peter gasped.

Jadis opened her eyes, and they were black as coal. Her newly blood-red hair tumbled down her back and seemed to sway in some odd wind that could only be coming from her. She tightened her grip on Peter and lifted him off his feet, bringing his eyes level with hers. And then she took three steps forward, backing Peter into the Stone Table in the middle of the chamber. Peter cried out when she smacked the back of his head against the stone.

"Foolish child," Jadis hissed happily. Her voice had changed like her eyes. There seemed to be an echo or two behind it. "What to do, what to do with you… Shall I kill you now?"

"Peter!" Edmund shouted from his left. Out of the corner of his darkening vision Peter saw his brother running towards him, only to be intercepted by the Hag.

"Or shall I turn you to stone, little prince?" Jadis raised her wand and held it an inch from Peter's pale cheek.

"No! Peter!" cried Lucy. Peter couldn't see her…couldn't see much of anything…

"Actually, it's High King," Peter managed to whisper.

Jadis smiled with a terrible calmness. She leaned in, red lips brushing Peter's ear. "Or maybe I'll let you live for a few hours longer…so that the guilt of setting me free and damning all of Narnia can properly sink in. By the way…" Peter winced as her voice was layered with another echo. He seemed to be hearing her with more than his ears, and she was using more than her voice to speak. "If you see Aslan, give him my regards. If he hadn't sent me to Hell, I wouldn't have learned some new tricks… Like this!"

With a terrible shriek, Jadis released a ribbon of fire from her wand. The fire snaked around Peter's body, instantly burning not only his clothes but also his bones. And then she flung him across the chamber where he collided with the rock wall. Peter crumpled to the ground where he lay silent, and still.

The Hag and the Wer-wolf moved up to the left and right side of their queen, bowing and muttering praise as they went. Jadis raised her arms, stretching them as if she'd only just been asleep. She straightened her dress, and patted down her hair. And then she strolled out of the chamber with a delicious smile on her face, her gown of Peter's blood swishing in her wake.

**To Be Continued**


	2. The King's Curse

**The Blood Witch and the High King**

PenPatronus

Chapter Two:

**The King's Curse**

Edmund tasted dirt and rust. He spit, and blood pooled. More dripped from a cut across his throat. If the Hag's talons were any sharper, Edmund would need Lucy's cordial as much as Peter. Edmund wiped his mouth and resumed crawling towards his fallen brother. Peter lay unconscious on his back with his legs bent, his right arm twisted beneath him and his left splayed out as if reaching for Ed. The image wormed into Edmund's throat and clogged it.

_Oh, Pete…_

Susan met Edmund at Peter's side, and their fingers were inches from his raw, burned skin when Lucy screamed.

"_Don't touch him_!"

There was such conviction, such a force in her voice that everyone froze. Lucy leapt over the dead form of Nikabrik and took Edmund by the elbow. "Something's wrong with him, I can feel it!"

"Of course there's something wrong!" Susan was trembling, desperate to take her brother into her arms. Peter's parted lips were blistered and his blond hair was singed. There was no obvious breath, no visible rise or fall of his chest. "Lucy, the cordial!"

"She's right. There's something far more sinister here than we're assuming..." Trumpkin joined Lucy and helped her pull Edmund away from Peter. "I can feel it too—the balance of the Deep Magic in Narnia has shifted."

"Just watch," Lucy begged of Susan. She looked about for half a moment before tugging a ribbon from her braided hair. Slowly, Lucy lowered the ribbon until it grazed Peter's red forehead. Instantly, in a blink, it caught fire. Lucy yelped, let go, and everyone watched as ashes floated away from where her fingertips had been.

Susan's eyes were wide as a shield. "What has she done to him?" she breathed.

"Some sort of curse." Lucy uncorked the vial and tipped it over Peter's lips, careful not to let any part of her touch any part of him. Medicine dropped like a tear and landed cleanly on the back of Peter's tongue.

"I don't know if that'll work this time, love," Trumpkin said sorrowfully.

"It's Peter…I'll empty the whole bottle if I have to," Lucy whispered. A moment passed, and then another that felt twice as long as the first. Lucy passed her hand through the layer of air above Peter's heart. She must have sensed something because raised the vial again and released two more drops.

"Come on, Peter," Edmund whispered. "Come on." Caspian came up behind Susan and put his hands on her shoulders. Susan's expression had been stony and business-like until, at his touch, she released a pent-up sob and leaned back against him. He knelt until her cheek was against his chest, and moved a hand into her raven hair.

A gasp from Lucy returned everyone's attention. "Look!"

Edmund stared as the color of Peter's skin began to shift from lobster-red to pink to pale before settling on a healthy peach. His chest suddenly bound upward as if he'd been electrocuted, and his eyes flashed open with a burst of blue. Peter choked, coughed, winced, and then, miraculously muttered "Ouch…"

The Pevensie siblings couldn't hold back a moment longer. All three of them threw themselves on top of Peter and wrapped their arms and hearts around him. Trumpkin and Caspian winced, but the cordial had at least cured enough of the Witch's curse to leave the siblings unscathed. Suddenly a pained gasp from Peter made Edmund jump back. Peter's back arched and his limbs shook. He clenched his eyes shut and bit his lip. A trickle of blood leaked from between his lips and slithered down his neck.

Susan pressed the palms of her hands to her brother's cheeks. "Peter—are you all right?"

Peter stared at her, gasping, sweating, fighting for words and finally only shaking his head in confession: "no."

"Lucy, more medicine," Susan commanded. The young queen uncorked the cordial again.

"Don't bother." Peter's voice was scratchy, hollow, almost meek. "It's done all it can do…Save it…" For several minutes, Peter just lay in his brother and sisters' arms and breathed. And then he whispered, weaker still, "Ed…"

Edmund raised his face from Peter's shoulder and found his brother's eyes fixated on him.

"Are you all right?"

Edmund forced himself to stare into his brother's eyes instead of at the blood beneath him. "You're one to ask," he snorted. He wiped blood away from his own throat and shrugged. "It's just a scratch."

Peter shook his head, wincing as he did so. "No, I mean…" He flailed a few fingers at the Stone Table. "I know you still have nightmares about…about her."

Edmund swallowed the threatening muteness. "It's ok, Peter…"

Peter's eyes closed and his voice softened nearly to nothingness. "She's back…It's my fault…"

"No, it is mine," said Caspian. "Nikabrik fooled me…I did not realize what was happening until it was too late." Beneath his hands, Susan pivoted on her knees and stretched her neck until she was looking up into his eyes. "I am sorry," he whispered to her.

Susan slowly rose. The tip of her nose nearly brushed Caspian's. "I don't understand. What's happened?"

Caspian's lips were barely parted when a mouse with a sword and a disgruntled badger barged into the chamber. "We heard a commotion—what's going on?" Trufflehunter exclaimed.

"Oh!" Reepicheep gasped when he saw Peter. "My Lords and Ladies, are you all right?"

"Did the Witch hurt anyone else?" Caspian demanded.

Trufflehunter and Reepicheep's faces swiveled towards each other, then back. Simultaneously they exclaimed, "_What witch_?"

While explanations were exchanged, the dead body of Nikabrik began to get up behind them. None of them saw the dagger in his fist or the fire in his lifeless eyes.

**To Be Continued**


	3. News of the Dead

**Author's Note:** Thanks so very much for your reviews and support!

**The Blood Witch and the High King**

PenPatronus

Chapter Three:

**News of the Dead**

High Queen Susan was hardly "Gentle" when she pointed out Peter's pride in the middle of the attack on the Telmarine castle. But she'd earned the right to question him because she knew her brother, because she cared and wanted only the best for him. And also because one of Susan's strengths was her objectivity. She was proficient and rational while the sources of Peter's decisions were duty and passion.

Susan wasn't any gentler with Prince Caspian.

"What did you think a Hag and a Wer-wolf would do, summon Aslan?" she shouted at him. "We were plenty doomed without that Witch against us too! Our supplies are low, we lost half our troops last night, and now there's black magic in the mix that we've never even heard of! You almost got my brother _killed_!"

Caspian lowered his gaze and stared at his boots. "Susan…" Peter mumbled. Having recently made a disastrous decision himself, Peter was sympathetic.

Rare tears burned Susan's eyes: harsh tears of anger and fear and mostly of disappointment. "Do you have any idea what she can do? Do you have any idea what she did to…" Susan turned, pointed, and cried, "…_**Edmund**_!"

So many things happened at once that Susan could only watch. At her cry, Edmund instinctively dodged forward into a somersault. From his back, Peter kicked upward, knocking a dagger out of Nikabrik's hand. From Susan's left, Reepicheep sent his sword sailing end-over-end to land in the dwarf's shin. From her right, Trumpkin threw a knife. The blade landed right in the black dwarf's throat. But Nikabrik didn't falter. Blood didn't even spill. The dwarf kicked Peter in the chest and pivoted towards the Queens.

"_**Susan**_!" Prince Caspian wrapped his arms around Susan's waist and pulled her and Lucy behind the Stone Table. Edmund was on his feet. He unsheathed his sword and planted himself protectively before Peter.

Trufflehunter's mouth was agape. "I thought you said he was dead!" The badger looked around for a weapon and only found a rock.

"I stabbed him myself! He _was_ dead!" Trumpkin insisted, moving to protect Lucy.

"He _is_ dead!" From Trufflehunter's shoulder, Reepicheep pointed. "Behold his eyes!"

Susan and Caspian peeked over the Stone Table and saw fire dancing in the black dwarf's pupils. "_Necromancy_," Caspian breathed.

"Macro-what-si?" exclaimed Edmund. Behind him, Peter was pulling himself upright against the wall. Susan could tell that fighting gravity was taking all of her brother's energy.

"The Wer-wolf drew a magic shape in the dirt when he revived her!" Caspian explained, and Susan realized that his professor must have tutored him on all forms of mythical magic. "She must be performing spells to raise the dead!"

"Only Aslan can do that!" insisted Lucy.

"The balance has shifted…" Trumpkin repeated. "_Watch it_!"

Nikabrik tried to escape through the chamber entrance, but Caspian left Susan's arms and intercepted him at sword-point. The traitorous dwarf glared, and then began to speak. Somehow his voice was like the fire that was controlling him. His words were made of crackles of burning wood, of hisses of steam, of the flap not unlike a bird's wing made by wind whipping through flames.

"My Queen, The Blood Witch, will have all of your souls," said Nikabrik to the Prince. "Those who do not join her army in life will be her servants in death!" The dwarf began to march forward, with each step moving Caspian back. "Even now dead Telmarine soldiers and the Narnians you left at Miraz's castle are waking up to join her. Your friends will fight for the Witch who has resurrected them! And soon, your High King will join her!"

Susan looked at Peter and saw his face pale in horror. He slid down the wall and landed hollowly on his knees. Susan took Lucy's hand as Nikabrik continued.

"…soon she will be Queen of all Nar—"

Nikabrik's sentence was split along with his body. From the dwarf's rear, Edmund brought his sword down right through the center of his head—muscling it between his eyes and through his chest until the body fell aside in halves.

"Shut-up," Edmund spat at the twitching limbs. Caspian took off his cloak and covered the body parts before Lucy could see.

"Peter—" Susan hurried over to her brother.

Peter weakly waved her away. "'m alright," he mumbled. He turned his head, pressing his cheek to the wall and his eyes shut. "Just a little dizzy."

Susan pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. "You're burning up. We have to figure out what she cursed you with."

"We need Aslan," said Lucy. Susan nodded, agreeing. Peter and Edmund said nothing.

Trufflehunter stared sadly at their High King. "Ruthless and quick, this Witch, isn't she."

"So are we." Edmund sheathed his sword and seemed to grow a few inches as he spoke. "Trufflehunter, Reepicheep, tell everyone to congregate here at dawn—we all need rest after last night's battle. We'll update the troops and come up with a plan. Lu? You swear you saw Aslan?"

Lucy nodded.

"Then I hope he's nearby…" Edmund looked at Susan, who was stroking Peter's cheek as he drifted between consciousnesses. "For all our sakes—dead or alive."

--

Susan ran ahead of Caspian, lighting his way with a lamp as he carried an unconscious Peter. The levels below Aslan's How were being used for storage, while the upper floors had been converted into sleeping quarters. The royal quarters were at the very top. Lucy was already up there, arranging sleeping mats of straw and wool for Peter while Edmund started a fire. Giving what she gave best, orders, Susan sent Lucy to get water from the wells and Edmund to get food from the supply alcoves.

"But Glenstorm said that the wells are nearly empty!"

"And the food won't last another day!"

"Just find something, anything! We need to keep up Peter's strength until we can cure him!"

Caspian gently lowered Peter onto the mats. When he was settled, Susan and Caspian sat together by the fire. The Prince remained silent, avoiding her eyes. He looked so properly ashamed of himself that Susan felt guilty for scolding him. She broke the ice.

"Take your shirt off."

Prince Caspian froze, except for his brown eyes. They widened. "Sorry, Your Majesty?"

Susan sucked in her cheeks and bit down. "I mean—your sleeve—your arm. The arrow wound. It hasn't been bandaged yet…I can do it."

Caspian blinked. "Oh. Right. Yes." Susan was grateful he lowered his eyes as he started to unbutton his tunic, because her cheeks were so brightly red they were lighting up the room like Christmas.

"I was thinking of you."

Susan was so lost in her thoughts that she almost didn't catch what Caspian had said.

"Thinking of me?"

"When Nikabrik…made his offer. I was staring at the paintings on the wall and thinking that I would do _anything_ if…" Caspian sighed and shrugged his whole shirt off, wincing when the scabbed blood went with it. He turned away from her to stare into the fire. "I was thinking of you."

Susan's logic was failing her. She felt a confusion she normally associated with algebra. No one—no _man_ had ever said anything like that to her before. In fact, Susan had never even considered the possibility that any man would ever give her more than a second's thought. Why would they…Why would he?

She swallowed, looked over at Caspian and had to swallow again when the light of the fire highlighted the muscles in his arms, chest and back. When she realized that she'd have to touch his bare skin to dress his wound, a heat rose in her that did not come from the fire. It was bewildering, but pleasurable.

As Susan cleaned and wrapped Caspian's arm, the silence between them was thunderous. It took all of Susan's willpower not to rub her cheek against his bare shoulder. And from the sideways glances he shared with her, he wasn't about to put up a fight if she did…

**To Be Continued**


	4. The Spare Room

**The Blood Witch and the High King**

PenPatronus

Chapter 4:

**The Spare Room**

"I liked it better when we solved our differences with blades instead of words," said Peter to the Blood Witch.

She smiled at him as if he were an infant. Her smile looked so sane, so serene and silky and…safe? No. She was alluring. She was a trap. A spider spinning a web of fire out of feathers.

"My dear Peter, what's wrong?" she purred with mock concern. "Do you not feel well? You look so pale."

Her voice was a spell. Peter gulped, and summoned the only weapon he had: "Looking better than you, Witch."

Jadis sighed. "1300 Narnian years in Hell has quite an effect on a woman's complexion." She rubbed her white palms against her white cheeks. Her eyes of coal shimmered as if diamonds were buried in them. "My sword is not necessary anymore, little prince. Now, thanks to you, my tongue is deadlier than steel."

"I believe you." Peter willed his eyes not to blink, his chin not to tremble. For the eighth or ninth time that minute he willed his legs to support him, but they weren't under his control.

Jadis gathered her blood-red gown in her snow-white fingers and swirled away from Peter. "Now, where was I…"

"You were just telling me how you will skewer Lucy with Edmund's spine and roast her over Susan's burning body. You'd settled on that plan during your 239th year in Hell."

Jadis' eyes fluttered shut with sadistic pleasure. "Oh yes, of course. How delightful that you remember such detail." She looked at him and he saw, for the first time, a pure sincerity. "Thank you, Peter."

Peter Pevensie flinched. Those three words had burned him unlike any magic she'd unleashed. Sound escaped his slow exhale and he was embarrassed to realize that he'd moaned. He wondered if his siblings could hear him. If, right then, they were shaking his prone body, trying to wake him up. He imagined the tears in Lucy's eyes, the tremor in Susan's voice, the terror in Edmund's stony face.

"Before I continue to elaborate, little prince, would you be a dear and tell me where we are?"

Peter neither raised his head nor opened his eyes. "The spare room."

Jadis traced the patterns in a wardrobe, _the_ wardrobe, with a red fingernail. "Why did you choose to bring us here? I spy no significance in this space, no personal Hell."

He looked up. "_Me_? You're the one with the reins to this dream!"

Red lips curled in amusement. "You think this is merely a dream? That _I_ am merely a dream? Silly Peter. My magics are far more advanced than a simple invasion of your unconscious."

Peter tried to swallow but his mouth was desert dry. He leaned back against the wall of Professor Kirke's home. Above him, rain rapped against the glass window: a thousand fingertips tapping to get his attention as if they could rescue him if only he could reach up. But his arms, like his legs and his mind and quite possibly his soul, were not in his control. Peter could hear the rain, feel the cold floor, smell his own fear, yet he knew that he was really somewhere else, asleep. He was lying in the royal quarters in Aslan's How. No doubt his siblings were nearby. Maybe Edmund was trying to coax water down his _real_ throat. Maybe Susan was covering his real body with a blanket. Maybe Lucy was stroking his real hand. Peter knew that what he _couldn't_ sense was what was real and true.

"Why are you here?" he whispered, past caring that he sounded neither strong nor brave. "I'm dying. I can feel it coming. Isn't that enough for you? Isn't that what you want?"

Her back faced him, her head cocked to one side. She tugged on the handle to the wardrobe.

It was locked.

Losing interest, she flung her thick red hair over her white shoulder and pivoted back to him. "I used to have no interest in prisoners," Jadis mused. "But that was before I had an…_appropriate_ prison." Jadis spread her arms, indicating the room and its wardrobe. "Thanks to you, dear Peter, I'll soon have a very valuable prisoner. They came quickly. You are very effective bait." Her smile flourished, radiated. Peter had to squint from the horrible brightness of it.

_No…Susan_, Peter thought. _Edmund, Lucy, Caspian…_

The Witch raised her wand and Peter, trapped in some spare room of his mind, in some spare room of the universe, could not escape.

"Now if you'll excuse me," she politely said as if they were at a dinner party, "I have a lion to trap."

"_No_—"

The wand tip perched on the crown of Peter's head as light as a butterfly, and he _screamed_.

--

Outside another spare room, Prince Caspian stood guard at the top of a dirt staircase. Just inside the shadowed quarters, Susan lay asleep. Half of her right arm was visible in the light from the fire and the moonlight sneaking through the vent above. Lucy lay on Susan's left, Edmund to her right around the circle. Between the two youngest Pevensie siblings slept the eldest. Peter lay precisely where and how Caspian had left him almost a dozen hours before. The only change was in the High King's face. As each hour passed, Caspian observed that Peter's expression slowly sank into a frown like the sun setting over a horizon. His frown contorted into a grimace, and the grimace into a permanent wince. Every so often Peter would groan in an obvious, helpless pain.

Caspian feared for him.

"My prince."

The familiar voice startled Caspian from his meditation on the delicate curves of Susan's hand. He bowed as his elderly tutor, Dr. Cornelius, climbed the last few stairs to join him.

"Good evening, sir."

"Good morning," Cornelius corrected. "I got your message, Caspian." The older man tried to control his labored breathing for the sake of the sleeping children nearby. "Troubling news, very troubling."

Caspian turned back to Peter. "Indeed."

Earlier, Caspian had sent Trufflehunter to fill the Doctor in on what had happened at the Stone Table. He didn't want to keep his mentor in the dark until the council planned for dawn, like the Narnians were. Trufflehunter had reported that the troops were restless, anxious to hear a report and a plan from High King Peter. Caspian needed the doctor's advice, but he hadn't wanted to admit his failings to his mentor himself. Hence, the messenger badger.

_Coward_, Caspian cursed at himself. _Perhaps the badger should guard the Kings and Queens…All of Narnia would be better off without me…_

"I disagree with you."

Caspian started. Had Cornelius read his mind?

"I don't think the spell this—this _Blood Witch_ is using is mere Necromancy."

Caspian joined Cornelius, who'd squatted on the top stair.

"What is your theory, old friend?"

Cornelius snorted. "Theories I have, my library and a younger man's memory I have not." The old scholar looked urgently into the young prince's eyes. "I need my books, Caspian. I need the old scrolls. They may hold the key to many mysteries: all this talk of "deep magic" and "ancient power," King Peter's curse, this witch, Aslan himself…All might be explained and understood if we have the right resources. Maybe, if I can translate the runes on the Stone Table…Maybe, if I work hard enough, I can find a cure for Peter."

Caspian felt his jaw drop and he yanked it back up. He started to speak, to argue, but he already knew the counter-arguments: there was little time, and even fewer options. They had to return to the Telmarine castle.

--

An hour before dawn could announce the day with its usual parade of light and sound, the night and its sleep was interrupted by a scream. Lucy and Susan tripped over each other as they scrambled across the alcove. Prince Caspian leapt over the fire, unsheathing his sword in mid-flight. Edmund crawled to Peter's side and tried to keep his brother from bucking right off the floor. Peter's cries must have echoed across all the wardrobes in all the worlds.

Once he realized that the enemy was inside Peter's body instead of the room, Caspian lowered his sword and raised a lantern. Lucy gasped something about fetching water. None of the others noticed when she only got as far as the staircase.

"Why is he suddenly worse?" Susan called over the din.

"Because _She_ knows I'm here."

Caspian, for half a moment, assumed that the old man with his arms around Lucy was Dr. Cornelius. When he realized it wasn't, he aimed his dagger.

**To Be Continued**


	5. The Saint's Shallow Magic

**The Blood Witch and the High King**

PenPatronus

Chapter 5:

**The Saint's Shallow Magic**

Edmund Pevensie squinted over the fire warming and lighting the royal quarters. The old bearded man embracing Lucy was oddly familiar, as if from a memory of someone else's dream. He looked harmless, but Edmund had been fooled before. He removed one of his hands from Peter's chest and drew his knife. Beneath Edmund, Peter continued to gasp and wrench, his fingers clawing into the dirt ground and his eyes leaking tears. Every few strenuous breaths hid a name:

"Aslan…Witch…no…no…"

Prince Caspian had his own weapon out.

"_No_!" Susan cried. She threw all of her weight onto Caspian's elbow and forced his dagger to his side. "Good guy!" she hastily explained, breathless. Susan and Caspian stared into each others eyes and he must have seen something in hers because his posture relaxed, and his chin lightened.

"Apologies, Sir," said Susan with a formal nod she'd only ever offered to Aslan. "How wonderful of you to visit us."

The old man chuckled and tightened his hug around Lucy. "Greetings again, my dear ones." His robe was faded to the color of an apple rather than holly-berries, but his beard was still long and white and his eyes still gleamed. Edmund found that the image he had of Father Christmas in his mind was surprisingly accurate, as if Aslan had imprinted it there just in case Edmund would ever need it. As if in tune with Edmund's thoughts, Peter mumbled the lion's name again.

"This is a friend of yours?" Caspian asked of the Pevensies.

Lucy laughed, her voice twinkling like a wind-chime. "The dearest," she said, and she looked up at Saint Nicholas' cherry face. "I know it is not Christmas, Sir, but do you have presents for us?"

"Lucy!" Susan admonished.

"Oh, Susan, you _know_ what I mean."

"Tools, not toys," Father Christmas reminded them, raising a sausage-shaped forefinger to the tip of Lucy's nose. "Your friends outside are already unloading supplies from my sledge. And though I have tools for you, and news from Aslan—" Susan, Edmund and Lucy gasped— "perhaps I should give Peter his gift first. Excuse me, King Edmund."

Edmund leaned back on his haunches, and felt his knees crack as the tension in his body rebounded. He nearly stepped aside but a protective instinct grounded him there, and Edmund kept a palm on his brother's shoulder.

Peter's shouts suddenly de-crescendoed into mere groans when Father Christmas rested the palm of his hand on the King's bare chest. "Dear Peter, what has She done to you?" the saint whispered with a parental tenderness. He ran his fingers and eyes over Peter's body as though he were a doctor rather than a glorified mailman.

Caspian, Susan and Lucy moved to hover over the three men. "Can you help him?" Susan asked. Edmund recognized the tone of her voice: she wasn't allowing herself to hope, not just yet. "Do you have…tools? For—for curses like the Witch's?"

Father Christmas chuckled, but it was a bitter, hollow sound. "Do you remember what I told Mrs. Beaver, all those years ago?" he asked Susan. Edmund studied his sister's face, but saw no recollection. "Locks and bolts make no difference to me…But this, this is not in my power. My bucket only descends into well of the Deep Magic so deep…"

Edmund saw Caspian's hand shoot to the small of Susan's back to steady her.

"But…"

Edmund bit into Father Christmas' word and didn't let go. "But?" he prompted. He squeezed his fingers tighter around Peter's shoulder. "_But_?"

Father Christmas reached between the folds of his apple-red robes. He rummaged around for a bit, his arm disappearing up to its elbow, before he drew something out. "But Aslan was on the move. And during his movements, he was able to get me this before—"

Lucy bit down. "Before what?"

Father Christmas' rosy cheeks paled a bit. "Before," he said. And then he removed from his robes a diamond-glass bottle identical to the one he'd given Lucy.

"Fire-flower cordial?" asked Edmund. "We tried that."

"No. The Deep Magic has shifted. The fire-flower is not enough. This medicine is of Aslan: his body, and his blood. Ingesting it will temporarily allow Peter to borrow some of Aslan's strength, as if he were one with the lion. But…I'm afraid it is only temporary. Only Aslan can cure him completely."

"And where is Aslan?" Lucy's voice was meek, scared, fragile.

Father Christmas uncorked the cordial and raised it. "Hopefully King Peter can tell us." As drops rained from the vial, Father Christmas incanted, "Eat of my body, drink of my blood, eat of my body, drink of my blood, eat of my body, drink of my blood…"

--

Wardrobes away, the soul of Peter Pevensie lay with his cheek pressed to the wooden floor of the spare room. It was as cold and hard as an iceberg.

Peter lay stiff and trembling in the wake of a spiked snake of fire that had been slithering through his veins. Why had the Blood Witch stopped the pain? Or was he dead? No. Weights of worlds were on Peter's shoulders. They had curled up and tucked their talons into his muscles. He kept his eyes closed. If he opened them the worlds would demand things of him. And so Peter lay shivering, his jaw clenching and unclenching, causing his head to rise and fall as if his skull was breathing.

A thousand stinging needles pierced the pores of his skin. Hot energy sprouted throughout Peter's body.

"_Peter_." A voice came from the wardrobe.

"Aslan?" Peter gasped.

And then Peter heard the pulse of his own heart…

…or was it—was it _Narnia's_?

"_Peter, get up_."

"I can't…"

"_I need your help, Peter, get up. Get up!" _

The energy was suddenly strength. Peter was yanked to his feet and he discovered that he was able to hold himself up. He turned to the wardrobe, and grinned.

"_Come, Peter_."

Peter took a step forward.

And from nowhere, Jadis did too The Blood Witch, her coal eyes blazing, stood between Peter and Narnia.

"How…" Jadis muttered, actually allowing her surprise to show. Then she shook her head as if shooing a fly away with her hair. She raised her wand and Peter ducked, and flinched.

Nothing happened.

Jadis screeched. She flung her wand across the spare room and pulled a sword from her red gown as long and as thick as one of Peter's legs. Instinctively, Peter reached to his waist for his own weapon, the sword that Father Christmas had given him. A moment after he remembered that he was nowhere near his physical body, let alone his sword, his fingers wrapped around the hilt.

Jadis' white face flushed blood red. "Impossible," she hissed. Her voice crescendoed. "This is my world!"

Peter cocked an eyebrow and an elbow, raising his sword. "It all belongs to Aslan, Witch, including me!"

"He tried to rescue you, and he failed," Jadis hissed. "Now Aslan belongs to _me_!"

Peter yelled and charged. Their swords met with an explosion of fire.

**To Be Continued**


	6. Gifts and Sacrifices

**Author's Note: **Sorry about the wait, folks! Life is an obstacle in itself sometimes!

**The Blood Witch and the High King  
**PenPatronus  
Chapter 6:  
**Gifts and Sacrifices**

Lucy Pevensie began to braid her hair for the tenth time. Above her, Edmund was leaning against the clay wall and breathing in snorts and sighs. Susan was pacing. The circle of footprints she'd imprinted around the fire pit was nearly ankle deep. Prince Caspian was kneeling next to Father Christmas and watching Susan out of the corner of his eye. Father Christmas was as still as Peter except for when he cast the palm of his hand above the High King's heart.

The light shifted. Lucy looked up at the ceiling vent and saw a melon sky. It was dawn. It was dawn and Peter still wasn't awake. Susan suddenly stopped and hissed through clenched teeth. "You said the medicine would strengthen him."

Father Christmas didn't look at her. "It did. His heart is stronger."

"He's breathing easier," Caspian confirmed.

"Then why…" Edmund's voice drifted off and all he could do was point at Peter's still form.

"Why isn't he awake?" Susan finished for him. She grunted and began another lap of pacing. Edmund kicked his toes against the wall before continuing his own brooding.

Lucy sighed. She jiggled her head until the braids came out, and then began the process again. Her attention settled on Father Christmas and she focused on interpreting his facial expressions. He looked expectant, hopeful, encouraged…but when another quarter of an hour passed, he shifted to disappointment, to defeat. But then, just when Lucy's face was about to reflect his, Father Christmas smiled.

Lucy was half-way through saying "What is it?" when a badger burst into the room.

Poor Trufflehunter was so out of breath from sprinting up the stairs that Susan completed another lap around the fire before he spoke. "My Lords and Ladies!" he finally gasped, his paws on his knees. "We assembled for the dawn meeting, as you requested, but then a—a _hag_ came! Straight across the meadow, my Lords! And she—she…" Trufflehunter struggled for words, but it wasn't because of his breathing. "She's tall! Big!" He stood up on his tiptoes and raised his palm as far above his ears as he could reach. "And she…she's not alone." Trufflehunter flailed his arms for emphasis, gesturing towards the doorway.

"Why would the Hag be here?" Susan asked.

"Probably to recruit," Father Christmas muttered.

"Recruit…" Susan mused. She frowned. "You think some of the Narnians will actually join the Witch's side over ours?"

"Why not? Some did last time. Are some of them as scared as Nikabrik was? Yes. And desperate creatures will do just about anything…After what happened at the castle, you might not have as many loyal followers as you think."

Caspian was on his feet. "Let's go, Edmund." Reluctantly, Ed patted Peter's shoulder and then followed the prince. Trufflehunter waddled after them.

"Lu, stay here," said Susan. She yanked on her slippers and gathered her skirt.

Lucy stood up. "But—"

"_Stay_!" Susan ordered.

"I'm not a dog!" Lucy huffed. Father Christmas chuckled.

Susan was at the doorway when Caspian suddenly grabbed her wrist. If she hadn't been instantly dazzled by his eyes, she would've put up a fight sooner.

"Perhaps you should stay here as well, my Queen," he whispered. "Jadis could be out there."

"She isn't," said Father Christmas with the calmest of certainties. He was running his palm above Peter's heart again and mumbling to himself.

"What?" Susan sputtered. "No—I'm coming. I can take care of my—"

"I know that, I've seen—" said Caspian.

"If there's a siege, you'll need snipers—"

"Of course, but—"

"And I cannot stand to be _here_ another moment!" Susan stamped her foot into the compacted dirt.

"Fine!" Caspian snapped. His glare and his face were red. "My apologies for trying to _protect_ you!"

"Apology not—"

"_Oi_! Are you two coming?" came Edmund's voice from down the stairs.

When they were out of earshot, Lucy released a giggle for the first time in days. "He likes her," she sang. Father Christmas smiled, but sadly. Seeing this, Lucy frowned and asked, "Are you all right, sir?"

Saint Nicholas released a sigh that blew Peter's bangs. He reached across Peter's body and took Lucy's hand in both of his. "Dear Lucy," he said, "do you know why I gave you the cordial all those years ago?"

Lucy swallowed and forced herself to keep eye contact with the old man. "Because…because I'm not very big or strong. I can't fight."

He looked surprised at this. "Oh no, Lucy. I gave you the healing potion because you already had the potential to be a healer. Just like Peter already had the potential to be a kingly warrior and Susan the a bowman. You could feel what was wrong with Peter when Jadis first cursed him. The healing gifts warned you not to touch him." While Lucy mulled that over, Father Christmas guided her hand over to Peter's heart and steadied it about an inch above his chest.

"Can you feel him, Lucy? Can you feel Peter?"

Lucy stared at her hand and bit her lower lip. "I feel…I guess I feel him but…no…I'm not sure."

"Peter's body is healed, Lucy, but if he's not waking up, then part of him isn't here. And if part of him is not here, it must be somewhere else, held by some_one_ else…Can you feel that?"

"I…I'm still not sure..."

"It's one of the powers she brought back with her from Hell. When the Witch poisoned Peter, she was able to separate his consciousness from Narnia and detain him in a prison of her making. She's been torturing him there."

Lucy was appalled, and the color of her face showed it. "Why?"

"I'm happy to say, dear one, that I don't understand it anymore than you do. And that is the highest of compliments."

"How do we get him back then?"

"I must retrieve him," Father Christmas said as if it were simply a matter of walking down the street. "I must go where he is. Trust yourself," Father Christmas soothed, patting her outstretched hand. "Your gift is of Aslan, and he knows what he's doing."

Lucy lowered her hand back to her side at the mention of the lion's name. "Where is he, sir?" she asked in a whisper. "You said you had news from Aslan. Please tell me."

That sad smile returned. "Peter can tell you when he wakes up. I'm afraid I must say goodbye now, Lucy."

Her eyes widened. "Goodbye? But—but why? Where are you going? Can't you stay here and help us?"

"I am helping you, Lucy Pevensie. I'm going to get your brother back."

"But—"

"Lucy." His voice was a whisper, his face a single wrinkle of sadness. "Close your eyes. Close your eyes and count to ten."

"Will we ever see you again?"

"Close your eyes, Lucy."

She did. She counted to ten, and repeated it. When Lucy opened her eyes, Father Christmas had disappeared. Where he'd been sitting beside Peter, there were five wooden wands.

--

Peter pivoted, kicked away from the wall and swung the hilt of his sword into Jadis' chin. She responded with an elbow to his stomach and an uppercut to his jaw. Peter tripped backwards, and just barely managed to get the wardrobe door between his chest and the tip of her sword. He threw his shoulder into the door, forcing the hilt of Jadis' sword through her hands and against her throat. The Blood Witch stumbled, and Peter brought his sword down with both hands. She ducked, his momentum carried him past her, and when he turned she already had her weapon unstuck. They circled each other.

"You can't hurt me, child," Jadis spat, her red gown flowing around and her eyes nearly glowing golden from rage. "I'm not even here!"

"I'm not trying to, Witch," Peter growled back. Sweat repelled down his bangs and dripped onto his chin. Wind blew in from the open wardrobe, and Peter smelled Narnia. "Now get out of my way!"

Jadis frowned and glanced at the wardrobe. Realization smacked her as hard as Peter had. "That was locked!" Her eyes flashed like a striking snake. "I tested it myself–_Impossible_!"

"Aslan has opened it!"

"Aslan?" Jadis snorted. "Aslan is in a darker prison than you, little prince. He is powerless." Peter lunged, but Jadis planted her feet. After minutes of mutual thrusts and parries, she still stood between Peter and the wardrobe to Narnia, to his real body and his family. In a corner of Peter's mind, he wondered if they could fight forever.

And then, just when Peter was preparing another offense, a person followed the scent coming out of the wardrobe. Peter's jaw dropped as Father Christmas strolled into the spare room, took a shocked Jadis by the throat and shouted "Peter, go!"

"What about you—"

"_Now_!"

The wardrobe door began to close. Jadis was screaming.

Peter didn't hesitate. He ran past them and dove into Narnia.

**To Be Continued**


End file.
